


Revolutional Change

by scarheadedferret



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Blood and Gore (but not extremely graphic), Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:39:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarheadedferret/pseuds/scarheadedferret
Summary: Baz never expected a servant to speak to him in that way- he certainly never imagined falling in love with one. And Simon could have never predicted that his life would be upturned by some prince. But it really do be like that sometimes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to my artist (@snowbazpls) who made wonderful art for this!!!
> 
> (Baz and his siblings are all Natasha and Malcolm's children- Daphne doesn't exist sfjksdh sorry)
> 
> *** - means a scene change (too short to be its own chapter)

In a single moment, all of Baz’s senses became surrendered to the battle. His ears rang so much they felt as though they were going to fall off. His eyes stung, his hands were cramped and his legs numbed. He was immobile, head turned to the side, half of his face covered in mud, that slowly mixed with the blood that fell from a cut above his brow. The screams and shouts plagued his mind, both sides of the war never stopping their myriads of screeching and howling and thrashing. Failed attempts at moving told him that trying to lift his head was futile, and he was only able to stare at the blood-barren field before him. Horse hooves galloped and splashed through deep puddles of mud, jumping over bodies and trampling others. Boots hit and stomped on the ground as men ran all about, all falling, fighting, and fleeing. The metallic clash of blades was the loudest, louder than even the shouts and cries of rage and pain.

Swords were thrown against each other, pressed into stomachs, slashed against arms. Baz had had enough sense to keep the small dagger in his gut pressed there, stopping the flow of blood that would’ve been his death were he not trained in this. Years of royal lessons on what to do in battles- and inquiries as a young child had lead him to know how to fight in a battle properly. When he was little, he had yearned greatly to stand as strong as his mother did in what he had deemed her “adventures”.  _ Some adventure now.  _ If Baz could laugh, he would have.

Baz had always had an interest in war- to see how fights progress. He had been excited to fight for his country, yet it was humorous now to know that it would be the cause of his death. He began to mourn his own imminent end; trying to remember how the rose garden back home smelled, how his mother’s laughter sounded, and the feeling of his sister’s hugs. He realized then, painfully, that he would never know any of those again.

Baz was forced to remove himself from disparaging thoughts and return to the present as two swords clashed nearly directly above his ear. The sound was so loud that it overtook him- consumed him, and all he could hear was the ringing. Then, suddenly, a wicked smile appeared above him, strange green eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction. Both of the swords which were once above him were now driven right into Baz. It felt as though the blades did not stab a particular part of him, but were rather killing his entire being. The overwhelming feeling of pain was so great, that with a scream, Baz jolted awake in his bed. He immediately reeled back in shock as a hand clutched his shoulder, Mordelia paused, frozen in fear over her brother. 

“Baz?” Her voice quivered, and her small brows were drawn tightly together. Baz took in several trembling breaths, and shut his eyes as he tried to regain control. Mordelia pulled back her hand, and stared at Baz with a horrified and worrisome expression. Baz hated that it was he who put it there. 

“Just a dream, Mor, nothing to worry about,” Baz spoke as gently as he could, despising the adamant shake in his voice. Mordelia didn’t seem convinced, and she then crawled over to the other side of the bed. Baz heard the strike of a match- and soon his bedroom was filled with flickering golden light.

Baz stared ahead, watching as the light jumped across the curtains and around the floor in constant motion. Drops of water raced down the glass of his large window, occasional white light illuminating the sky a distance away. Mordelia left the candle on the nightstand, and hesitantly crawling back over rumpled sheets beside her brother. 

“There was a storm, I heard you shout,” she whispered, voice small and breaking at the end. Baz studied her frightened expression for a moment, then sighed; he opened his arms silently. Mordelia crawled into them quickly, tucking herself along his side in familiar comfort. Baz shut his eyes, nodding to the guard at the door who turned and left the room, shutting the door with a resolute click. 

As his sister’s breaths became even with sleep and Baz felt her still in his arms, he allowed himself to cry. Silent tears fell down his face, not unlike the falling drops on the glass pane. Baz continued to watch the storm, not wiping his tears less he risk waking his sister- and she needed her sleep.

And despite the nourishing assurance that was protecting Mordelia- and having her presence in his arms- the plague of the battle was unable to escape his mind. It was as though he had just stepped off the field a few moments ago, rather than nearly five years. No matter the passing of time- the commotion was still present, never settling in his thoughts. 

***

The morning came with wide rays of gray light, which quickly flooded his room as a maid swept open the curtains. Baz sat up slowly, minding the sleeping child next to him. Baz glanced at her innocent face: fists curled up near her chin, expression relaxed, and so unlike the fearful emotions that had claimed her the previous night. He pulled the covers up to Mordelia’s shoulders, and slipped out of the bed. He moved into his accompanying wardrobe, and quickly dressed into his day clothes. He ran a comb through his hair, pulled his thin coat closer to his frame, and left. 

His footsteps echoed throughout the corridor as he made his way to his destination, nodding at maids and guards who bowed and curtsied as he passed. Mornings were always silent- unless his siblings were awake and about, but for the most of the time, dawn always held a cryptid feeling to it. He popped into the kitchens to snag a stale biscuit before continuing down the long and narrow stretches of the castle, ignoring the calls of Cook Pritchard to have a ‘real breakfast’.  _ Sustenance is sustenance,  _ Baz thought, biting into the stale pastry. Finally arriving, the doors swung open. A gust of fresh air hit him immediately, carrying the familiar scent of the sweet summer grass and pine trees.

Baz squinted his eyes as he stepped onto the patio, the bright light nearly blinding him as he left from the darker interior of the castle. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, before he walked down the stretch of stone path that cut into the symmetrical foliage. He bit into his biscuit again, wincing at the taste. He forced himself to eat the rest, and wiped the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief, tossing it into a bush once he was done. 

“Never thought a prince would litter.” The unfamiliar voice startled Baz, though he didn’t let it show, and stared questioningly at the accuser. A servant, around his age, clad in gardener’s clothes, sheers in one hand and a threadbare potato sack in the other, was grinning tauntingly at him. Sandy curls fell into eyes that reminded Baz of visits to the coastline, a cluster of freckles were splayed out over the bridge of a slightly crooked nose, and pale skin was slightly tanned and reddened from being constantly outside. He was beautiful. Baz looked at him impassively.

“And I never thought a servant would think to speak to me in such a way,” Baz huffed, and to his surprise, the young man only laughed, a raspy chuckle crinkling the servant’s eyes and scrunching his nose. Baz loathed it. 

“I’m not surprised that you’re one of them,” The servant spoke once his chuckles ceased. He turned his head back down to the hedges, clipping too large leaves from the shrubbery and letting them fall into the sack. “Though- what else could I expect,” 

“One of who?” Baz asked cautiously, raising a brow.  

“Y’know, a prissy royal, all snot-nosed and...” Simon trailed off and stifled out another giggle, and Baz noticed a slight overbite. Enamoured by his features, Baz barely caught the question, too preoccupied with the glint caught in the servants eyes, and the sharp line of his jaw.

“You have work to do, sirrah,” Baz spoke, and he felt a strange surge of guilt flow through him as the servant’s expression darkened at the addressment. Baz continued walking, not acknowledging the eyes that followed his back. The replies of the servant had stumped him- he was unused to being spoken to so casually by someone who wasn’t his family. It was only when he was a quarter ways around the garden that he realized he should not have addressed the servant at all. 

***

Simon rolled over on his cot for the seventh time that hour, pulling the scratchy quilt up to his chin. His mind was bothered by grey eyes and a smooth voice. Prince Basilton screamed an eloquence and beauty that Simon couldn’t help but admire.  _ Too bad he’s a right jackass,  _ Simon thought, fists clenching around the quilt.  _ Can’t take one joke _ .

Micah groaned in his sleep, the scratchy blankets shifting against each other sounding out through the small shared room, and thus preventing Simon from claiming any sleep of his own. He propped himself up on his elbows and peered out the cracked hole in the window beside him, glass so caked with dust that it was like looking at a lighter portion of the wall. The moon was nearly down all the way, the sky black yet tinted with purples and blues, hinting that the sunrise was near. Simon sighed, and decided to get an early start on his work.

Adjusting his cap, Simon shifted the shovel slung over one shoulder, and made his way down to the large ditch. Some men were already stationed there, fingernails filled with dirt and hands burning red from being worn down over the handle of the shovel repeatedly. Simon whistled a note, and Nicodemus glanced up to smile at him.

“Up early?”

“Micah can’t be quiet to save his life.” Nicodemus snorted in amusement, and pointed to a section of dirt that hadn’t been moved yet. Simon huffed and set to work, clearing out the soil onto the nearest wheelbarrow.  _ Stupid prince _ , Simon thought, digging the shovel in harder through the mound,  _ worth less than he thinks he is.  _

“Okay there, Salisbury? It’s not like the dirt’ll hit back,” Nicodemus chuckled. Simon grunted and eased his shovel. His hands and arms were starting to ache, and the sun hadn’t even risen yet. 

Hours passed and every fiber of him felt sore- which wasn’t necessarily unusual. He wiped his hand on his forehead, not caring that he had most likely covered his face in more dirt rather than rid himself of it. Having removed the thick garment he typically wore during his working hours, Simon was now only clad in a thin undershirt rolled up to his forearms, so sweat-drenched that it clung to him disgustingly like a second layer of skin.

It was nearly noon, so this part of his day was almost over, he realized with slight happiness- construction shifts were always the worst. Simon loaded a last portion of dirt into the wheelbarrow, and pushed it up the hill and onto the grass, before taking another wheelbarrow filled with stone down to the ditch. He waved a hand to Nicodemus, who took the stones and began unloading them along with a fellow servant, Amicus.  _ Why does the king need another bloody fountain anyway?  _ Simon shook his head in thought as he left the ditch. 

He took his time gathering his tools in the garden shed near the castle, relishing in the shade it provided, before he stepped outside once more. His midsection was beginning to clench painfully with hunger, and Simon chewed his lip in thought. The slice of bread he’d been given that morning didn’t offer much to ease his growling stomach.

“ _ Si-mon!”  _ Penny’s voice sung out from across the field, Simon glanced outward to see her silhouette in the distance, and arm raised high in the air in greeting. He grinned and made his way over to her, tools slung over his shoulder in his sack. Penny was tending to the weeds and flowers in the large garden that took up nearly half of the land behind the stone castle. She was in the section closest to the castle- the late queen’s rose garden. 

Simon’s grin grew larger as he approached his friend. Her dark hair was drawn up in a bun, several curls freed and stuck to her face with perspiration. A smudge of dirt was on her cheek, and several leaves had made their way onto her clothes and on the top of her head, Simon chuckled and plucked one from behind her ear. She tapped her watering can against his shoulder playfully in response. 

“Trixie bailed on me- said Keris needed help in the stables- though I doubt it’s the kind of help you’d expect,” Penny said and Simon snorted into his palm.

“Don’t say that!” Simon proclaimed exasperatedly, his hand hiding his surprised grin.    
  
“It’s the truth!” Penny rebutted, turning back to the rose bush in front of her.    
  
“And I don’t want to hear about it much,” Simon replied. Penny smiled and rolled her eyes fondly, before shifting her concentration back to her work. 

Simon dropped his bag, ignoring Penny’s grunt in annoyance when the metal clanged loudly against the pavement. Simon winced, and sent her a cheeky grin in apology- which she ignored- and Simon went on his way to the well on the edge of the garden.

He swung the watering can back and forth, grabbing a bucket stationed behind the stone base of the well, and hummed to himself. Simon wiped away the beads of sweat that dripped down his face with his cap, and then attached the bucket to the rope. He fastened the knot tightly, before lowering it down gently into the depth below. Once he was certain that he had successfully filled the bucket with enough water, he tugged the rope back up. He glanced forward for a moment, and was shocked to see Prince Basil staring right at him, around 20 feet away. The prince’s slightly gaped mouth shut, and he immediately lowered his raised brows, transforming his expression into a blank one. Simon grinned.

“Heya highness!” He shouted, releasing one hand on the rope to wave his cap at him. “Fine morning?” The prince ignored him, and Simon frowned, he had been hoping to get a least  _ some  _ sort of reaction out of him. He became too distracted by the royal however, as his grip unconsciously loosened on the rope, causing the bucket to begin to plummet all the way back down the well. Simon yelped in surprise and grasped the rope tightly again, tugging it harshly. Thus causing the bucket to rock dangerously and splash water, conveniently, all over him. Simon groaned and detached the bucket, wiping the cold water from his face and arms, and grimacing as it soaked into his thin layer of clothing . Hearing an unfamiliar chuckle, Simon’s face shot up, and glared as he watched the Prince muffle laughter into his fist, eyes bright and staring at Simon coyly. Simon promptly forgot that he had now recieved a reaction from the previously emotionless prince, and snarled at him.  

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a hand clasped his shoulder and shook it roughly.

“What in the king’s name are you doing, Simon? You can’t shout at the  _ prince _ !” Penny reprimanded with a harsh whisper. “What’s gotten into you?” Simon didn’t look at her, eyes fixated on the prince, who smirked at him, raising an elegant brow before turning and walking down the stone promenade. Simon snapped out his trance, turning back to Penny, giving her a shrug and promptly ignoring the warm blush that had flooded his face. 

“I got the water!” Simon digressed, triumphantly holding up the bucket, which was now half of the way full.

“Congratulations,” Penny deadpanned. “You got  _ some  _ of the water.” She looked pointedly at Simon’s half-soaked outfit. Simon deflated, mocking a pout as Penny laughed.

“C’mon, we have work to do,” She chided. Simon ran a hand through his damp curls, sighing, but unable to contain his grin as Penny continued to laugh heartily. They made their way back to the shruburry, and Simon volunteered to take the center rows. The water on him had relieved him of the heat somewhat, but it soon warmed and caused his clothes to stick to his skin uncomfortably. He tended to the plants carefully, as he knew Penny would, checking the leaves for disease and making sure to water the soil evenly whilst not drowning the roots. The teasing smile on the prince’s face stuck in his mind, and Simon made several futile attempts at throwing the thought away before he gave up and lost himself in stormy grey eyes and a shining smile.

_ He’s like a rose, all prickly at first, but soft and beautiful when you finally pluck it.  _ Simon thought numbly as he held a fallen red rose in his palm,  _ a lovely rose _ . 


	2. Chapter 2

“That’s not how you do it,” The Mage told him agitatedly, “ _ Listen, _ ” he said. He took the sword from Simon’s hand and demonstrated the correct form. “If you don’t have a strong grip, it’ll be knocked away like nothing-  _ again _ .” Simon bristled and took the sword from the Mage’s offered hand. He held it the proper way, centering it in his palm and curling his fingers over the hilt. He stood back in the defensive gesture, standing on guard as he waited for the Mage to start.

The man lunged forward with his own sword, and the metal clashed loudly as it hit Simon’s. Despite the firmness of his grip, his sword was still overpowered by the force of the Mage’s own, and clanged as it fell to the ground in a vocal defeat. Simon’s shoulder slumped disappointedly and the Mage huffed. 

“Work on your standing- I need to leave. I’ll be back in a few days,” The Mage spoke stiffly, not acknowledging Simon’s nod in response. He walked towards the edge of the small clearing they had been practicing, but turned right before he left. “And, Simon,” he called, “ _ Don’t  _ forget your training.” Simon nodded quickly and the Mage was gone. Simon glanced at his dull reflection in the flat of his sword. The ‘ _ yes, sir’  _ remained unspoken on his tongue. 

***

“You’re late, Basilton,” Malcolm’s voice echoed out across the drawing room. Baz squeezed his hands slightly together, clasped behind his back as he stepped forward.

“I apologize for the misconvenience,”

“Misconveniences could cost you your rank, Basilton- your reputation, if you want to rule graciously as your mother did, you-” Malcolm began.    
  
“-should be noble and proper to the eyes of the public,” Baz finished monotonously. “I know, sir.” The hints of a frown peaked at the corners of his father’s mouth, but his expression remained ultimately stable. 

“You know why I do this, Basilton. You know why I must prepare you,” Malcolm replied, voice marginally gentler. Baz scoffed.

“You prepare me to clean up the messes you’ve started,” he bit back.

“I do the best I can, you will understand soon.” Baz restrained himself from sneering and pressed his fingernails into his palms. 

“The ‘best you can’ is allowing half the country to starve, and it will be my duty to deal with the aftermath,” Bas rebutted. The built up frustration he had been holding in for the past few weeks began to trickle out, and Baz knew that now was not the time to contain it any further- his voice needed to be spoken. 

“Basilton, rememberer who you’re speaking to,” Malcolm said cautiously. Baz clenched his fists tighter, not acknowledging the blood that flowed when his nails broke the skin. “Now, I’ve called you due to terms concerning the late queen.” Baz’s eyes widened fractionally, hands loosening subconsciously at the mention of his mother. 

“Yes, sir?” Baz responded after his father paused momentarily. 

“There’s a memorial to be established near the coast in her name, and I’m trusting you to oversee it,” Baz fought the urge to glare, he knew the truth of this trip. The poor had begun to riot more frequently in the last month, and Baz could bet every last coin in their family’s fortune that this was an excuse to separate he and his siblings from the mess without drawing suspicion. Baz didn’t voice his anger, however, and nodded curtly. His frustration would have to wait until later- for Baz knew that his father wouldn’t discuss their country’s problems with him any further in that moment. 

“I am honored, sir,” He replied tersely. Malcolm looked over him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, and Baz fought the urge to turn his head the other way as his father analyzed him.

“You are dismissed,” his father told him after a moment, and Baz bowed his head once before departing the room. His mind blurred as he walked down the familiar hallways. Without a reaction to the famine crisis from his father, the kingdom was bound to fall apart, and he was being sent  _ away  _ with no means to help.

Baz’s stride became quicker, and in fact, he wasn’t really thinking of exactly _where_ to go, all he knew was to leave his father’s disapproving stare and his own frustration behind _._ Without knowing it, he was running, hot tears trailing down his face as he bolted through the halls, not acknowledging the maids who shouted in fear or the visiting dukes who huffed out remarks and raised their brows. He ran and ran until he suddenly found himself met with a blast of summer heat from outside as he rushed through the doors. He didn’t stop his pace, and paused at the front of his mother’s rose garden. His breathing was fast paced, and he could feel his pulse thrumming on his wrist. He let out a single, shaky breath, while his hand traced over the engraved letters on his mother’s plaque mindlessly. 

“Sir?” A familiar voice called, and Baz’s eyes widened, expression turning to one of fear before he was off again. He couldn’t look at  _ him  _ right now, the servant- who was everything Baz’s life was not- bright and golden and beautiful.

Baz sprinted down past the gardens and into the woods, not stopping until he reach the lake- the private one that he and his cousin Niall had once discovered as children. It was hidden through dense foliage, and Baz pushed his way through regardless, not caring for the sharp twigs that scratched him and stuck to his hair and clothing, he simply rolled up his sleeves and continued.

Finally, he reached the grassy shore that looked out over the small body of water, and randomly wondered why he and Niall had even deemed it a lake. It was a pond if anything, with a small patch of sunlight shining down on its center. He looked at the water for a moment, and though the pond may have been small compared to a lake, Baz could tell it contained a great depth. 

He glanced up at the forest around him; large trees fanned their limbs above his head, casting a greenish glow on the break in their growth over the lake and shore bank. The water was blue and inviting as it screamed and called out to him. Baz felt the sudden urge to jump in as he had once done with Niall- before they both had gotten too cold and had run back to the castle in fear.

Baz stared at the water, and proceeded to unlace his shoes, then stripping off his shirt and trousers until he was left in only his breeches. In one last motion, he pulled the dark blue ribbon that had held his hair at his nape, letting it tumble to his shoulders. He waded out into the water, appreciating the chill that soothed the scratches on his arms. He dunked his head, and glanced around the murky depths as he let the water surround him fully. He looked up back to the surface, where he could see blurred cracks of sunlight through the trees. With one exhale of air from his nose, Baz closed his eyes and let himself sink.

***

The prince was acting pretty strange, Simon had thought as he had watched Prince Basil burst through the doors and run to the rose garden. He had been mindlessly clearing up a last few hedges on his way back from training, when the prince had barrelled outside. Simon knew better than to approach him, but he couldn’t prevent the concern that leaked out of his mouth as he addressed the prince. The heir had lifted his gaze so quickly to him that Simon had to keep himself from jumping back in shock. The prince’s eyes were wild and as big as dinner plates, his mouth was slightly parted, and his face a sickly pale. Simon reached out to him, extending his hand slightly, but to no avail as Basil quickly ran again, but this time down past the garden and into the woods. Simon froze for a moment, unsure of what to do before his legs began to act for him, racing down and after the swift prince. 

His confusion continued as he followed him through the woods, and Simon winced as he had to break through several branches to continue the chase. It seemed to go on for an hour until- it stopped. The prince stood still at the edge of a small pond, before moving his head to glance about it. Simon quickly hid behind a tree, and was relieved when the prince seemed unaware of his presence. Simon watched curiously, and then with shame as he saw Basil remove nearly all of his clothing. A blush burned onto his face, yet Simon couldn’t remove his gaze. His back was an expanse of golden, unmarked, and unblemished skin, his legs long and covered in course, dark hair. Simon gasped softly as Baz removed the ribbon that held back his shoulder-length hair and let it fall to the ground, revealing silky hair that rolled down his shoulders like waves. 

Slowly, the prince waded out into the water, the thin material of his breeches

clinging to his thighs, his fingers and hands skimming over the top of the pond. Simon had never seen Basil in such a state, it seemed as though the prince’s head was in an entirely different location. Horror flooded Simon’s mind as he came to his senses- this was something he shouldn’t be watching- it was private, a moment Basil  probably thought was spent by himself, it was wrong to stay, if caught, Basil would probably have him hanged, he-. 

Simon’s rapid thoughts came to a stop, however, as Basil abruptly let himself sink below the water. Simon stared as the figure lowered deeper and deeper until it was nearly invisible under the blue-green water. Bubbles surfaced, and Simon acted immediately, all but tearing off his shoes and shirt as he ran and dove into the water. He swam further and further down the pond, several reeds and fish bobbing by him. Finally locating the prince, he shoved his hands under Basil’s arms and pulled with all of his might until they breached the surface. Simon panted heavily when the air returned to his lungs as he dragged the comatose prince to the shorebank. 

“Christ, Sir, what have you done,” he murmured to himself breathlessly. Simon quickly lowered his head to the prince’s chest, nearly collapsing in relief as he heard a faint heartbeat. Yet he was still unconscious- so Simon began pushing onto his chest repeatedly. He did so as he had once seen when one of the workers had fallen into a bog, and another had pumped his chest until the murky water had come out of the man’s throat and he was well again. It felt like hours before Basil’s grey eyes fluttered open, pond water gurgling up and out of his mouth along with induced coughs. Simon quickly moved his arm’s to Basil’s shoulders, lifting him up into a sitting position. 

The prince’s eyes adjusted, and once they settled on Simon, he leapt back in fear.

“What the bloody fuck?” Basil’s look of confusion had turned into anger, and Simon sighed wearily. 


	3. Chapter 3

“What the hell are you doing?” Baz asked, voice coming out more croaky than he wished. It was then that he recognized the stranger, or rather non-stranger. It was the servant,  _ Simon,  _ his mind supplied- remembering how the man had been called by another servant in the garden earlier. Water was dripping from damp blond curls, and were sliding down his face over several freckles and one mole beside his ear. Baz felt a strange, but not unpleasant feeling stir in his gut, and he attempted to lurch himself out from under the servant.  

“Helping you. You git,” Simon replied, and Baz reeled back, he was certain that no one had ever called him such a thing before in his life.

“I could have you banished from this kingdom,” Baz snarled, and Simon laughed. 

“Free way out of here? Fuck yeah,” He grinned, and Baz stared incredulously at him. He thinned his lips and bregrudgidly accepted the hand that Simon offered him, pulling Baz up with surprising ease. It was then that Baz realized both of their apparent lack of clothing, and quickly blushed, crossing his arms over his chest in his best attempt at covering himself. Simon was blushing as well, he realized, but made no attempt to cover his form. Simon turned around and walked a few steps away, searching for something. Simon then revealed several dry garments, giving Baz a grin as he held them out. 

Baz snatched the clothes that were brought to him and quickly tugged them on, not missing the way he felt Simon’s eyes on him as he did so. 

“Have you no modesty?” Baz asked, keeping his eyes fixated on the servant’s face, forcing himself to not let them trail down, where beads of water and sweat were slowly rolling down a golden collarbone- that was surely covered in even more freckles, he probably-  _ stop!  _ Baz commanded his mind, snapping himself out of his demeanor to try to focus on Simon, who had now begun to speak.

“-lend you my shirt,” Baz’s eyes widened as he managed to catch the last part of the sentence.

“What did you say?” He asked.

“You could wear my shirt- you look cold, sir,” Simon spoke, and his voice was strangely different to the one he had used earlier, it was gentler,  _ pitying,  _ Baz realized. His mind suddenly caught up with what had occurred. He didn’t remember getting to the lake, but he remembered jumping in, and contently letting the chill seep into him until warm arms had grabbed him and everything faded to black. He scowled.

“I don’t need your help,” he said stubbornly, and Simon huffed a breath before shrugging. 

“Your choice, mate,” He glanced at Baz’s shivering form for a moment, and dangled the cloth in front of him in one last offer. Baz continued to glare for several drawn out moments. He then exhaled sharply and took the offered material, surprised at the amount of warmth it gave off as he shrugged it over his shoulders. 

 

“Aren’t you cold as well?” Baz inquired. He immediately scolded himself mentally-  _ this servant is messing with my head _ . 

“N-no, sir” Simon stuttered, he too was surprised by Baz’s concern. A distant shout called from through the thick foliage, barely heard by either- but Simon’s head shot up. His eyes widened in some realization and he gave Baz a quick smile that sent heat further rushing to his face, and darted off into the woods.   


“Wait!” Baz called out, but to no avail, the servant had already ran away.

***

Penny’s shout brought Simon out of his trance- he had been previously entranced by the way Basil had blushed and tugged Simon’s shirt closer to his shivering form, before giving him the strangest look. He was thankful for the disturbance, faithful that he would have said something embarrassing had he stayed any longer. He dashed through the forest, weaving between the trees, doing so surprisingly easier than he had before. 

He made his way through the woods, praying that Basil had not taken the chance to follow him. Simon made it through the woods, and had to skid on his bare heels to stop himself from crashing into the woman. She was waiting expectantly with a small loaf of crumbling bread in her hands.

“I brought your ration, since apparently dinner is now worth missing.” Simon appreciated it, and patted her cheek affectionately as he took half of the offered loaf. 

“Where’s the husband?”

“He ate earlier, we’re gonna meet after his construction shift”

“How romantic”

“Shove off,” Penny chuckled. He and Penny talked over their food before they called it a night, and Simon was disappointed when the ache in his stomach returned even after consuming the bread. His next meal would be a small bowl of porridge the next morning and he quickly wished to rush off to bed- if it meant he could reach his next meal sooner. 

***

Baz stared hopeless out the window of his carriage as it rode across a moore. The dull and brown landscape did nothing to soothe his nerves. He needed to be back home, his father wouldn’t strike down harshly on the peasants, but he also wouldn’t take away the taxes and reforms either. The central estate was doomed. Baz momentarily wondered if Simon would be alright, then scolded himself for thinking such. 

Mordelia groaned, interrupting his thoughts.

“Would you  _ please  _ stop sighing, I might die if you keep acting all sad,” She huffed and Baz glared back. 

“I’m just bored,” He lied, turning in his seat to face her properly.

“No, something’s happened, I can tell- you’re eyebrows are doing that thing,” she inquired with a devious grin. Baz raised the brows in question at her and she laughed. “You must tell me.” Baz narrowed his eyes.

“Tell you what? Nothing has happened,” Baz answered smoothly, Mordelia huffed again.

“No, I know it. Come on it’s only me,” She coaxed and Baz simply stared back.

“I have nothing to tell you. Even if I did- you’d sing it to the whole court.” Mordelia groaned and fell back against the carriage seat.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you, little sister, are the devil incarnate,” Baz retorted. Mordelia continued to glare, her arms crossed up at her chest. Her eyes bearing a dangerous glint that reminded Baz of his father when one of the swords on the mantle wound up mysteriously in his playroom as a child.

Several minutes of intense staring immersed, but ceased abruptly when their carriage came to a sudden halt. Worry churned in his gut- they weren’t supposed to arrive to the coast until late in the evening, and the sun had barely begun to set. He didn’t let his confusion and fear show though, and cautiously opened the door to the car.

“What has happened?” he asked the coachman, brows furrowing when he received no response. “Answer me,” He said again, but there was no one there.  _ Where’s the driver? And the guards? _

A clash was heard and Mordelia screamed as the carriage rocked dangerously to the left. Baz threw himself back into the car and grabbed her, and she whimpered in his hold. Holding Mordelia to his side with one arm, he opened the middle of one of the seats, and pulled out the blade he knew was kept there under emergency.

“What’s going on?” Mordelia whispered loudly and Baz shushed her.

He pulled himself and Mordelia into the corner of the car, and waited for what seemed like hours before the clashes heard outside stopped. Baz hesitantly opened the door, motioning for Mordelia to stay behind him.

For a minute there was nothing, just the whistle and the howl of the wind, until there was a deep shout, and a man was running at him from the side. His was face painted with mud, teeth a disgustingly similar shade and his expression enacted with rage. Baz gasped as the man charged and swiped a blade at his face, a sting resonating on his cheek- but only a scrape. Baz reeled back the dagger and forced it into the man’s gut, stabbing him just as he reached the door. The man’s eyes widened, mouth agape and brow’s drawn together as if he didn’t have a clue of his surroundings. Baz’s hand shook as he removed the dagger with a sickening squelch, and watched the man fall to the ground with a groan of pain.

Baz watched the dying man in horror as he bled out, blood seeping into the brown rags he wore as clothes. Baz stood frozen until Mordelia shook and jolted his shoulder, sobbing and begging for an explanation _.  _ Baz snapped back to the present, and checked for anymore men- and when finding none, he quickly grabbed Mordelia and exited the carriage. She buried her face in his arm as Baz shielded her and assessed their situation.

Their driver was dead on the ground, blood pouring heavily from a deep slash in his neck, and the guards were nowhere in sight. After making several glances of the area, Baz detached one of the horses from the carriage and mounted Mordelia onto it, ignoring her protests that they couldn’t leave the other horse behind, and climbed on in front of her. She held on tight to his back as Baz kicked the horse with his heel and began to gallop.

The trail was an easy one to follow, once they reached the end of the moore they were luckily secluded by a dark expanse of trees. However, Baz knew that it wouldn’t be long before someone would discover their abandoned carriage and would go searching for them. Wind whipped sharply against his face as he rode the mare swiftly, she wasn’t as fast as he would have hoped- yet she galloped a sufficient speed nonetheless. Mordelia was holding onto him like a lifeline, and Baz felt a deep sense of sadness sweep through him as he felt her tears seep into the back of his shirt. He refused to let his own fall, at least not in front of her.

By the time they reached the coastal estate, it was long past nightfall, the moon hanging brightly in the center of the sky. Baz took Mordelia carefully into his arms, the thirteen year old nearly fast asleep from the tiring journey. Baz could understand, he felt as though he were going to fall asleep right as he reached the steps to the estate himself. Baz carried her partially up the path into the smaller castle, and was quickly yet expectedly met by guardsmen. 

Baz called to them first, proclaiming his title. They held a torch to his face and soon recognized him. One offered to take Mordelia from him but he declined. They hastily explained that the searchmen had found the dead peasant man and driver, the empty carriage, and had thus assumed that he and Mordelia had been kidnapped or killed.

Baz in turn explained that yes- they were alive- it was  _ he  _ who killed the peasant man out of defense- (not as though he wouldn’t have been pardoned for the murder anyway) and that he had ridden the horse with Mordelia to the castle.

They were ushered inside quickly, and Baz was forced to let Mordelia be carried away by a maid to her rooms. His twin sisters were alright, thankfully, and had both shrieked at the sight of him. Baz had let them hug him a little longer than usual.

He was lead upstairs to his apartments, where he was told a hot bath awaited him, and surprisingly, his aunt as well. She was perched on the end of one of the couches, a cigarette in between her fingers. She didn’t look up when he entered, she simply stared blankly at the wall opposite her. Baz sat in a chair near her, and lit his own cig. 

“We thought you two had died, Basilton,” She said after a moment.

“Yes,” Baz replied blatantly.

“You’re father hasn’t received word yet, thankfully,” She told him, and Baz nodded.

“Why bother telling him at all?” He said, watching the smoke swirl upwards from the cig slowly. He truly felt very tired.

“Why bother- Basilton, you were thought to be  _ dead _ . If not even your father- the  _ King  _ has to be notified of what happened,” She said. Baz hated the surprised look in her eyes, he also hated that she was right.

“He would bloody rejoice- pass the crown to the  _ next _ son he’ll have now that he’s rid of-” He was cut off abruptly as Fione stood up quickly.

“Your father has not been the greatest king, or father- we both know, but he has great love for you and your mother, there is no doubt,” She spoke sternly, and with a flourish of her gown, was gone.  Baz huffed a harsh breath and put his cig out. 

***

He sank into the hot water thankfully. He declined the maid’s insistence of help and poured the water over his head and limbs, ridding himself of the dirt that had caked up around his ankles and underneath his fingernails. He remembered the cut on his face, and pressed a cloth to it. It was a minor scrape, thankfully, and he let the maid apply a solvent for the wound before he pressed the cloth to it once more. 

Baz worried for the castle. Had the rebels reached the estate as well? If so, it may as well be burnt to the ground by now, and his father would be on a carriage to the next city over. Baz felt a strange twist in his gut when he remembered the servant who had saved him several days ago. The one with kind blue eyes and curls that reminded him of the course sand on the edges of the coast. He began to worry again if the rebels had hurt him- or if maybe he was even on their side. 

Baz sent the maid away, and let his thoughts stray further to a toned chest, freckled neck, and strong arms, he let his hand travel downwards below the water as he recounted kind blue eyes, and sandy curls,  _ Simon.  _


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s getting stronger,” Micah spoke, cutting through the silence of their small cabin. He and Simon along with several other servants of their cabin were lounging about, smoking pipes in the aftermath of a sundry of card games. Simon gave him a questioning look and he continued. “The revolts,” Micah explained. 

“They’ve happened before, it’ll just blow over,” Edmund gruffed, coughing out several puffs of smoke as he spoke. 

“Not this time, it’s a lot more power than we think- and the royals won’t give a crap cause they don’t have the balls to do anything,” Micah replied, he set down his pipe and stood, and the rest watched as he left the table to go to his bunk.

“Wonder what he’s about?” Abner nudged Simon, he shrugged, there was an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach.

“No idea,”

***

 

Simon sat up abruptly, he was drenched in sweat, and the smell of smoke greeted him harshly. He jumped out of his cot and pulled on his boots. He looked around and noticed the smoke that was slowly seeping into his cabin.  _ Why didn’t he warn me?  _ Simon thought, before he ran and banged on all the cots, urging the men in them to get up and get  _ out.  _

Simon ran out of the cabin, watching in horror as a large piece of a wooden beam fell, aflame, onto a part of the garden, the brush beneath slowly being consumed by the flames as well. He heard screams coming from nearly every part of the grounds, as servants and maids fled from their cabins, and visiting dukes that had been unaware hollered and shouted as they tugged their fine robes closer to their bodies. 

Fear rang in his mind, for Penny- and for the prince. Simon had heard that the family’s carriages had departed early this morning for some memorial service- but was he alright?

Simon shook his head and quickly dismissed the thought in favor of locating Penny and ensuring her safety. He raced to the area that was once the female servant’s cabin, and began to call for his friend. He found Micah quickly, he too was looking for her, and the pair continued to call out, thought Simon doubted they could be heard over the sounds of the burning castle. 

Simon could’ve cried when he spotted the familiar shade of red hair, and Micah soon had his wife in a tight embrace. Simon hugged Penny quickly once Micah released his hold, relieved as she clutched at his back. Penny tugged at his arm to leave but Simon looked back at the burning castle. He ushered her off, ignored her pleas to leave with her and Micah before he raced to the garden. He pulled a bucket as quickly as he could up from the well and ran towards the castle.

“Come on!” He shouted to the other servants who were frozen in fear and shock, watching the flames grow increasingly higher. Several managed to listen, and followed his lead- grabbing buckets in small attempts to douse the flames. Simon held his forearm over his eyes as smoke and fire exploded out one window, he turned and threw the water on it with all of his might- but it barely did anything. Simon ignored the burning in his eyes and the heat on his neck and arms, and continued to go back and forth between the well and the castle. 

It was well into the morning by the time they managed to get the flames to subdue. Once the servants had sufficiently put out the flames, there was barely a pause before they began to clear out the wreckage. Simon knew there was ash all over his face and clothes, his back and arms were aching after the relentless work, and his hair and brow were damp with sweat. Regardless of his state, Simon pushed himself forward and helped Abner to move a blackened wooden beam out of what was once a sitting room. 

Piles were formed as wreckage was gathered and removed from the smoldering castle, and Simon grimly realized that they would need to start searching for survivors- and bodies. He traveled up the still intact marble staircase, and carefully glanced around the second floor. He near vomited when he saw a charred leg sticking out from under some rubble, but forced himself to continue on. Simon froze when he heard a cough, and- minding the gaps in the floor- made his way towards the sound.

Simon could just make out a soot-covered hand underneath what was possibly a couch, before he was rushing over, heaving out debris as much as he could, partially charred wood digging splinters into his palms. Simon gasped when he found none other than the  _ King,  _ blood trickling down the side of his face and his arm bent at an unnatural angle. His face was in anguish, and his features reminded Simon of the prince-  _ not the time!  _ His mind urged, and Simon bent down to hold the King up on his uninjured- or rather- less injured side. Abner had heard his call and froze in shock like Simon had moments earlier, before he shook himself and helped the man quickly. As they got the King outside and away from the nearly collapsing castle, a pang of fear worked its way through Simon’s chest. He hoped that the Mage wouldn’t be too pissed.

***

It came as no surprise to Baz when a messenger came bursting into the middle of the memorial service, requesting he and his aunt’s presence at once. Baz gave Mordelia a stern enough look that she knew to stay back, taking the younger ones’ hands in her own to keep them from running off after him. He exhaled sharply and glanced at his mother’s stone face once more before he briskly followed the urgent messenger. 

“The castle has been burned, King Malcolm is alive but injured, as he was rescued from the fire by a servant man, and has been safely relocated to the eastern side of the city with sufficient protection- he should be moved here shortly,” The messenger spoke, and Baz looked at Fiona. Her face was set in an emotionless manner, but her hands were trembling. He wordlessly handled a cig to her and she laughed croakily before taking it and lighting it with his offered match.    
  


***

Simon had never been so thankful to  _ not _ see the Mage in his life. Sure, the man had freed him from the horrors Simon had faced as a child, but he was often cold and distant at times. Simon knew that if the man found out about his actions- he would be thrown in the streets. The Mage managed the maintenance servants, receiving the nickname from the way he never seemed to be present- yet always managed to heal conflicts and mismanagement within the division of servants. 

When the Mage had took him in, he had allowed Simon on several conditions- he would try to gather as much royal information as possible, serve loyal to the Mage’s rebellion only, and to train under his eye in order to defend the rebellion should the kingdom attack. Although working in the gardens meant he didn’t hear much royal gossip, Simon was made well aware of the Mage’s plans to overtake the hierarchy- though, for some reason he hadn’t been informed of the fire. Despite his rage and concern at being uninformed of the attack- that he knew must’ve been the Mage’s fault- he knew that it wasn’t his place to say anything for it. 

He had been trained to fight from a young age, how to wield a sword without dropping it, and throw a punch without breaking his knuckles. He hadn’t discouraged the plot before, as he too was against the royal family. Years of negligence and tax raises had made the Grimm family a sore name in anyone’s mouth. Yet now Simon felt a conflict stir in his gut, the Mage was his family- but Prince Basil was something different.

Right now, he was stationed alongside the King’s guardsmen as they held down his stay in the East. Apparently a shortage of staff (due to half of them being apart of the rebellion) meant that common servants like him were recruited for protection services. Besides, the garden’s roses weren’t exactly of a dire need at the moment. Simon knew that the Mage, despite being nowhere in sight, was possibly searching for him. The tent he was in was hot and full of men, smoking and gossiping in small groups.

“Snow!” Lieutenant Adams called him over, snapping him out of his train of thought. “You’re being relocated, to the coast,” He stated gruffly.

“Why?” Simon asked.  _ What’s possibly needed of me there?  _ He thought.

“You will accompany the King’s carriage when he departs, he wants the man who saved his life to guard his children.” Was all the Lieutenant supplied before he walked away, leaving Simon wide-eyed and still confused.

_ His children?  _ Simon pondered, and then he realized,  _ Basilton _ .

***

“Penny? Penny!” Simon shouted, the streets were crowded with cries and shouts as people tried to leave the city after the burning of the castle. He had managed to catch sight of her red hair as he weeded his way through the crows of fleeing citizens, and immediately rushed to her side. They were standing on the edge of the road beside a tool shop, both holding several bags over their shoulders. 

“Simon? Thank god, you can leave with us. Micah’s family has their home out-” Penny had grabbed his wrist, and Simon avoided her gaze as he pulled away.

“Penny, I can’t go with you,” He stated.

“What do you mean you  _ can’t _ ? Did the Mage tell you to stay? I’ll-” Penny began furiously, and Simon cut her off with a sad laugh.

“It wasn’t the Mage. I’ve been ordered- to the coast- to guard the royal family,” Simon said, he looked down at his feet, but reeled back up in shock when Penny smacked him on the head. “What was that for?” He asked incredulously.

“A guard for the  _ royal family? _ ” Penny cried, “Simon, that’s brilliant!” She swept him into a hug and Simon laughed exasperatedly into her hair, he grinned at Micah over her head. “We’ll be in the north, if you ever need to come back,” She whispered and Simon nodded into her curls. 

“Good luck, mate,” Micah said, and once he and Penny pulled away from the hug, he clasped his shoulder. 

“Take care of her, alright?” Simon whispered, and Penny kicked his shin.

“I can take care of myself,” She said defiantly.

“I know,” Simon grinned, and dodged another kick. 

***

It had taken two days for the news to reach them, and Baz had been in a fit since. He honestly wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t stop the anger that boiled inside of him when he remembered that his father should’ve been expectant as well. Their kingdom’s past had seen a downfall in the past decade. His mother’s rule had gone smoothly at first, but an unexpected and short lived uprising that occurred seven years ago had sent the country into an economic downfall. Taxes were raised in efforts pay off the cost of the conflict, and despite the lift of debt for the government, the poorer classes had failed to recover fully. Famine had made its course through the small country, and the King’s neglect of the issue did not go without response. 

With a similar hatred towards the sovereign, rebellious groups allied together, and there were attacks against politicians seen all over the country in the past five years. The burning of the castle was therefore not a surprise to many. His father was aware of the uprisings, he’d be blind not to, yet he had firmly stated that the government was not to strike back- out of fear that the conflict would worsen. 

Baz dropped his face into his hands. He had been called into the parlor to receive the news, and now sat there with his aunt and the messenger. 

“Where is he now, again?” Baz asked, glancing up to face the messenger.

“He’s in the East now sir, but he’ll be relocated here within the month.”

“Thank you,” Baz nodded, and the messenger exited the room.

“We knew this was going to happen,” Fiona stated as she stared at a particular floorboard, the sun’s refracted light making it golden.

“It’s why we were sent here, he did not want us- well- in the line of fire, once could say,” He smirked as Fiona shook her head and snorted improperly. 

“You need to be careful, Basilton,” she began, “I know you are already,” She added at his affronted look, “But word travels fast, even within the walls of the castle, one slip of tongue could cost your reputation.” Baz scoffed.

“They won’t put up my effigy for calling the maid a bitch,” Baz whispered and grinned when his aunt dissolved into chuckles. It made him happy to see a smile on her face. 

“You know what I mean, Baz,” She said after a moment. Baz nodded dutifully, he couldn’t afford to gain the unpopularity his father now held.

If there was one superior that he respected, it was his Aunt Fiona. Strong and diligent, she was one of the only ones unafraid to get on the King’s bad side, making her opinions on his actions known, and probably one of the only people of high-standing who critiqued his decisions.

“I should go check on the imp,” Baz said after a moment. 

“Mordelia does have caretakers, you know,” Fiona smirked and Baz quirked up his mouth.

“Yes, but…” Baz trailed of. He and his aunt both knew why he had been so insistent on taking care of his younger sister.

***

_ Baz grimaced as pain laced through his shoulder, he could feel the coolness of the mud mix with the warmth of the blood seeping from the laceration made there. He stood on shaky legs, leaving behind his attacker, who now lay dead to the hand of another soldier. He gasped as he heard an explosion a faint distance away, and he barely had time to close his mouth before the sound roared in his ears, this time much closer.  _

_ He woke to a familiar pain in his arm, and a sharper one running up his back. He winced, and sat up, unable to hold in the cry that he let out when moving caused the pain to dig knives into his back. _

_ “Basilton,” a voice murmured, and Baz turned his head weakly once he had lain back down. His father stood beside his bed, with a terrified Mordelia grasping his hand tightly. She let out a small cry and her lip quivered as she looked at him. _

_ “What’s happened?” Baz asked, and his voice came out more raspier than he would have liked. _

_   
_ _ “Mummy’s gone,” Mordelia sobbed, and she pressed her face into his father’s hip, clutching the fabric she found there tightly. It was the only time Baz saw his father not push one of his children away. He had been frozen at the news, his body tensed with shock. The whole thing felt like a bad dream, one that his sister would wake him from with a hug, and then get their mother- who was still up talking with their father or playing cards with Fiona- and have her sing to them. He felt tears run numbly down his face, and his arm felt too much like lead for him to be able to wipe them away.  _

_ When his father had called for a maid to usher away his hysterical sister, he had looked grimly down at his son. _

_ “She fought bravely, as you,” Malcolm stated, and Baz hated the steadiness of his voice. _

_ “It’s your fault” Was all Baz croaked out shakily, before Malcolm turned and left his room. _

_ The next few days had passed like a blur. Baz kept falling in and out of sleep, and when he was awake thoughts passed through his mind like lard. It was in that small period, with the war against their neighbor still ablaze, that Mordelia had spent time with him the most.  She visited him nearly every day, talking to him about something she did or saw, the twins, which flowers she had chosen that day to put on mummy’s grave, updates on father’s current whereabouts. Baz had barely been responsive, but that hadn’t stopped her. And soon Baz took comfort in the quiet rambles she gave, that filled up his days with chatter instead of loneliness.  _

_ On the first day that Baz was able to stand again, Mordelia had wrapped her thin arms around his waist so tight that he was surprised by her strength. He had placed a hand on her back comfortingly, and had felt a small elated feeling of happiness stir in his gut, something that hadn’t happened since before his mother’s death. _


	5. Chapter 5

Simon was packing his few belongings into a small bag when the Mage finally found him. Cold fingers had wrapped around his forearm and he was tugged threateningly towards the old man. He had reached for his sword in shock, but had relaxed when he saw the Mage’s face.

“I’m very proud of you, Simon,” The Mage grinned, and Simon was unsettled by the strange and malice glint in the man’s eyes, but relieved by the kindness in his voice. “Saving the King so that I can have the final kill, and show the people who their true hero is.” Simon nodded in understanding. Though that wasn’t his original intention, he seemed to have done something right in the Mage’s eye for once. He felt a lurch in his gut when the Mage’s words fully hit him thought.  _ The final kill.  _

“You’ll accompany him, like normal, but hang on to every battle plan you here, every movement and action of the higher-ranked ones, you must tell me,” The Mage whispered vehemently. “And remember your training.” With that he let go of Simon and left the small tent that acted as his sleeping quarters. Simon swallowed thickly as he watched the tent flap waver with the Mage’s departure. His mind was torn, one side encompassed by his yearn to somehow protect the snarky and beautiful prince, and the other with his loyalty to the man who had saved him from near-death. Simon sat on his small sleeping pad, and let his head fall into his hands as he lost himself in thought.

***

_ Past  _

  
_ Crying rang out through the small and icy cold room. The house only had one floor, one room, one door, and no windows. The ratty blanket drawn over his bony shoulders did nothing to give him warmth, and the equally thin child next to him was just as frigid as him. His stomach was being stabbed with the pang of hunger, and there was a sharp elbow, or maybe a knee, pushed into his back. He and the other orphans were laying on a cot together in one corner of the room. When he had first arrived some years ago, there were thirty of them, but with the increase of desperation for food- the number had begun to go down, until now, where there were only ten left. Of course not all of them had perished, some of the boys, once reaching a reasonable age, were sent off to work on farms or for richer families. Simon envied those boys, who probably got to sleep in a warm barn next to a large house, and got to eat rich porridge and sweet apples anytime they’d like to.  _

_ He shuddered and curled in on himself further. He didn’t know how old he was, or how long he’d really been there- besides having a handful of seasons pass in his time. Nor did he really remember life before the shelter. Sometimes, in his dreams, he caught glimpses of long golden hair and a soft blanket, but the visions vanished as quickly as they first came into view.  _

_ Everyday was the same: wake up, eat a slice of bread, go wait in line to get a water bucket in the center of town, drink, try to sleep, ignore the cold- or if it was the summer: ignore the heat. Several days after the war started (Simon too young to understand why at the time), a brown-haired man in a very nice suit walked into their abysmal home, and pointed at Simon to the woman who watched them all. Within a day, he was sleeping in a warm bed, his  _ own  _ bed, had two slices of bread for breakfast, and a fried egg over a bowl of milled wheat. The man told him to call him the Mage, and that he was going to take care of him from now on. He informed him that Simon was around 11 years old, something he hadn’t known before. When the man tugged him into a stiff embrace, it was the first hug that Simon ever remembered. _

_ For most of his young teen years, Simon was taught how to fight: in hand-to-hand combat at first, and, as he got older- with swords and spears and daggers. He never knew in depth of why he needed to learn how to fight, but the Mage always said that learning how to do so would keep them both safe- would keep him with all the nice things he had been given. Sometimes, in the late evenings after he was done fighting for the day, Simon would sneak into his neighbor, Ebb’s, yard, and she would let him water her plants and tend to the vegetables, talking to him about her goats and how to treat and grow certain types of plants. If he had done a lot of work in one day, she’d sometimes sneak him a tomato. _

_Later, when he was 17, the Mage told Simon that he was going to have a job, working on the fields and in the gardens, in the bloody_ royal castle. _The war had just ended, and the castle needed lots of refurbishing, so he had been sent to work, and diligently so. He befriended Penny, and met her love, Micah, as well. He had heard of the stoich prince, and seen him too, but conflicting schedules with his training and work meant that he only caught glimpses of the beautiful prince. It was when the Mage kept disappearing more and more often, that he was able to interact with the Prince for more than a simple head bow in his passing._

_ *** _

_ Present _

Simon’s feet felt so numb that he might as well have just strapped bricks to his ankles. If he were a bit warmer he was sure that they would feel sore as hell, but he trudged them on, failing to ignore the cold mud that kept spilling into his boots. The sword that the mage had given him was slung on his holster, and a less adept but sufficient spear was strapped on his shoulder.

The soft rustle of trees and bushes was drowned out by the clop of hooves and clanging sounds from the large carriage a couple of feet in front of him. 

***

Baz watched as the large brown carriage pulled into the front of the building, around ten soldiers following it on foot. Baz let the curtain shade the window once more, and paced around his room. If his father was here they’d have to speak about the fact that they had both nearly died, how the castle was in ruin, and how the revolts were becoming more stronger with each passing day. He felt a sharp pain tug above his brow, and sensed a migraine coming on.

“ _ Perfect _ ,” He grumbled to himself. There was no point in having his head pound during a meeting, so he might as well attempt to relieve it. He traveled down the slightly smaller- yet still grand building to make his way into the medicinal room. Nurse Possbelief greeted him with a curt nod and stern warning that he better not be looking to get himself stabbed again. He shrugged and returned her glare with a soft chuckle. He grabbed the ailment he had been searching for- a small jar of ginger sweets- and popped one into his mouth as he turned to go. 

But as he left, he saw  _ him _ . The servant boy. There was a smudge of mud over the bridge of his nose, and his curls were damp with what could be either rain water or sweat. He was wearing the uniform cloak of a soldier, but the black fabric was lightened with the brown mud. The servant- Simon, was standing by the door, unaware of Baz’s presence as he spoke amicably with Nurse Possbelief. Baz watched as he threw his head back in an angelic laugh at one of her comments, a mug of steaming tea cupped in his dirtied and ungloved hands. Baz felt a wave of affection and relief at his safety flood through him, and his body moved before his mind could react.

He walked forward and felt a small ball of excitement churn in his gut at the way Simon’s expression changed upon seeing him. Simon’s mouth parted with a quiet gasp, blue eyes widening and nose scrunching up in realization. He quickly bowed his head with a muttered  _ sir.  _ Baz laughed and then internally face-palmed.  _ What was coming over him?  _

He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face, though, it felt relieving to see Simon, like he had dunked his head in a bucket of fresh water. He ignored Nurse Possbelief’s calculating stare as he took a ginger sweet from the jar and pushed it into Simon’s chest. When the man glanced up at him, startled, Baz smirked.

“Looked like you could use one,” He whispered in Simon’s ear. Baz could feel the cold resonating from Simon’s body through his thin layer of clothes, and forced himself to pull away. He didn’t stick long enough to catch the servant’s reaction, and strode out of the medicinal ward.

***

The cold Simon had felt not even an hour ago was momentarily forgotten when a warm hand had settled on his chest, and hot breath fanned on his cheek. He looked down at the brownish-sweet that he now held in his hand, and glanced up to find Nurse Possbelief already across the room.

“Er- good day!” Simon called, “Thanks for the tea!” She waved a hand in acknowledgement from where she was collecting a sundry of strange jars from cabinets. 

Simon left the medicinal ward, intent on locating the prince- to thank him, or something. He popped the sweet into his mouth and immediately relished in the way it melted on his tongue, sending a burst of calm in his mind and easing the pain he felt from the cramp in his leg. He momentarily worried if something was so terribly wrong with Baz- that he required the entire jar of sweets. 

He sneaked through the hallways, making sure to take servant’s hallways rather than the main one- for which he would be caught dead for walking in (if his muddy boots were any consolation). 

He searched for Basil around the castle, and with the tip of a maid, found him walking down the stony path that lead to the ocean. Simon ran up to him, so eager to see the prince’s beautiful face again, to assure himself that the man was safe. He grasped the fabric of Basil’s shoulder, feeling the soft cotton slide under his fingers before the prince was spinning abruptly, and tackling Simon to the ground. Simon panted as Basil stared down at him with large frightened eyes- reminding him of the time he had caught him in the lake. 

Basil’s hands were on either side of Simon’s face, holding his wrists down, his legs bracketing Simon’s own as well. 

“What-”

“Oh, sorry!” They both spoke at the same time, mouth’s then closing quickly. “I- wanted to make sure that you were alright,” Simon said slowly after a moment of silence.  

“Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?” Baz asked harshly, tightening his grip on Simon’s wrists. He seemed to finally notice what he was doing and shoved himself of Simon, a rosy blush coating his face. Simon chuckled.

“Well, your father just nearly died in a fire, and your home is burned to ashes- also you grabbed the whole jar of ginger snaps, which really isn’t that healthy for one person to eat-” Simon was counting the grievances on his fingers as he rambled, cut short when Basil held up his hands to stop him.

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” Basil spoke angrily through gritted teeth. Simon blinked, he was still on the ground. Basil rolled his eyes but held out a hand. Simon stared at it, surprised by the gesture. “Come on, then,” Basil urged, and Simon grasped the prince’s hand. His skin was smooth and soft, but Simon could feel his strength as Basil tugged him upwards. Simon grinned at Basil and cocked his head to the side. 

“You’re an interesting prince, you know that?” He said and Basil raised a brow.

“How so?” Basil began to continue his walk along the path, and Simon followed in step beside him. 

“This time a year ago I’d’ve been hung for speaking out of turn to you,” Simon said dimly. “Why the change?” It was a minute or two before Baz responded. 

“Watford has gone through changes, it would have been impossible for me not to see them. I suppose that the time you first spoke to me in the rose garden, reminded me that I am not as above to you as my title states, and I could’ve been a much better help to the country far earlier had I realized that before.” They stopped walking when they reached the pebble-covered beach, the crashing waves a distant sound as Basil finished. They sat down on the small uncomfortable rocks, and Simon played with a few in his hands. 

“That’s…” Simon trailed off, and glanced a look at Basil, “Real good of you, Prince Basil,” He eventually said. 

“Baz,” the prince replied firmly.

“Huh?”   


“Call me Baz, Basil makes me sound like a garnish,” He smirked, and Simon laughed, Baz laughed slightly too, and Simon thought that it sounded akin to music. 

“Ok, Baz,” Simon said. He chewed his lip and turned to look at the sea. The waves were crashing far from the shore line, Simon could see the distant white peaks as they raised upwards and then crashed back down onto dark water. “Is it alright if I ask you something?”

“I suppose,” Baz replied calmly. 

“ _ Why _ did you go into the pond, that day?” Simon wondered how the prince could keep such a stoich face, Simon himself was thrumming with nerves as he asked the question. Baz visibly tensed, but turned to the sea.

“I’m not sure I truly have an answer,” Baz shrugged, he didn’t speak further on that, so Simon let it go. “I never really did thank you- for saving my life that day,” he continued however, and Simon felt heat rise in his cheeks. 

“I’ll count the sweet you gave me as a repayment, then,” Simon kidded and grinned as Baz let out a short laugh.

“I think a suitable repayment would be for me to see you again,” Baz said casually and Simon choked on his own tongue.

“You wish to see  _ me _ ? Why?” Simon asked, dumbfounded. 

“You’re an interesting servant,” Baz copied Simon’s words from before, and Simon tossed a pebble gently at his knee. “You’re also very handsome, so I’ll give you that.” Baz said, and despite the firmness of his expression- Simon could hear the slight waiver of nervousness in his voice. 

“I- thank you,” Simon stuttered, he chewed on his lip, and once again their conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. Baz checked his pocket watch after several moments passing, and stood. 

“I have to go now,” He said, and Simon noted the sadness in his eyes. 

“I’m gonna hold you to it, then- your life-debt,” Simon said, grinning. 

“I won’t forget,” Baz nodded once, and he held out his hand in parting. Simon clasped it, brows furrowing when he felt something being pressed into his palm. Baz walked on, and Simon peered down to find yet another ginger sweet, he grinned, and then cupped his hands around his mouth to shout at the departed prince. 

“My name’s Simon!” He shouted, Baz turned and Simon could see the way his mouth formed a grin from 25 feet away.

“I know!” Baz shouted, and then he continued, leaving a befuddled Simon, the taste of ginger and sugar melting on his tongue.


	6. Chapter 6

“You must do  _ something _ ,” Baz tugged on his hair harshly as his father regarded him from his bedrest. 

“Look at me, Basilton,” He commanded sternly, Baz obeyed. His father had pursed his lips, and his eyes held a rage that Baz had not seen for a while, “What  _ can  _ I do in this state,” He said gruffly- the most emotion Baz had heard in his voice since he could remember. 

“I never thought you would grow so weak,” Baz replied, not holding back the anger in his tone. Malcolm sighed harshly.

“How dare-” “You can still make decisions, you can call on the troops, sign a contract to lower the taxes on the poor, and make demands those who  _ can _ afford it instead,” Baz continued, “If you had half the strength to react to the things that have happened, then you wouldn’t be speaking to me from your bed, so don’t disparage on me for wishing something to be  _ done _ .” Malcolm stared blankly at Baz, his jaw tight. 

“You’re right,” Malcolm spoke quietly. Baz faltered.

“Sorry, what did you say?” He said in disbelief. 

“You’re right, Basilton, I  _ don’t _ have the strength, not like your mother did, not like you do now,” Malcolm said. Baz was in shock, he stared at the ground as he relayed his father’s words. He never thought he would hear Malcolm admit his wrongs aloud- to  _ him _ . Before his mother’s death, his father had been a secondary voice in the legislature. After she had fallen during a battle, he took over in her place, and in the five years since the end of the war, their country had declined to the point they are at now. 

“Which is why I need you to lead now, son.” Baz shakily raised his head to meet his father’s gaze. 

“You-you need me to,” He stumbled over his words as his mind rang with disbelief. “You’re not serious- I’m not yet 25-” Malcolm held up his hand, pausing him. 

“You  _ must,  _ Basilton. In one month’s time, you will rule in my place” Malcolm spoke, a wet cough lulled up in his chest. Baz’s mouth parted with a gasp. 

“ _ Why?  _ Why can’t you rule?” He asked angrily, “What has made you so incapable to do what you must?” Tears were threatening to fall as Baz clenched his fists.

“If I am to call for a civil war, who’s to say it wouldn’t take your life? How could I live with that?” His father retorted.

“So you’re just going to dump it all on me then? How  _ noble _ of you,” Baz spat.

“Be strong, Tyrannus. Rule like your mother did.” Baz faltered at the use of his first name. His father’s solemn expression was taken over by a horse gasp as he began to cough again, and a nurse rushed into the room. Baz turned on his heel and fled his father’s bedside quickly, an unignorable tear running down his cheek.

***

Simon tapped his thumbs against the sides of his fingers impatiently. At least in maintenance work he was  _ doing  _ something. Standing around on guard duty had lead him to realize that falling asleep upright was a very possible occurrence. In the mornings he stood guard in the hallway near the children’s sleeping quarters, but in the afternoons he got to stand guard outside Baz’s office. They didn’t speak most of the time- rather, they  _ couldn’t,  _ and when the doors were closed Simon didn’t see the prince at all, but he still was able to catch Baz’s eye with an occasional smile or wink as he walked in and out. 

Life now was far different than what he was used to. The coastal home was near empty- not full of guests like the main estate was. And the room he now slept in only held one other guardsmen- who lacked the snoring and ruffling of sheets that Simon was used to hearing (from Micah mostly). The coastal estate’s terrain was also far different, instead of being surrounded by wood like back home, it was all flat land, until it reached the rocky beach, with a few barren hills dotting the landscape. Apart of him was glad to leave the horrid city that had seen starvation and death on every corner, but his stomach was still empty in the east, and he preferred the comfort of Penny and the rose garden to the emptiness of this salt-aired place. He wondered if there were even attempts made at repairs for the now charred castle, or if the ruins were just going to be cleared off and left barren.

Now without the distraction of labor, he had a lot more time to think, and despite this, the Mage’s words had simply become a muffled reminder in the back of his head. Since he had been taken in, the Mage had instilled the idea that all royals were vile, self-centered, and didn’t give a rat’s ass about children in suffering like Simon. But as his life in the castle wore on, and Simon caught Princess Mordelia laughing in the garden with her younger siblings, and- more recently-  _ Baz _ \- smiling and acting rather the opposite of the Mage’s description, his faith in the truth of the Mage’s words had begun to lack.

He wanted to see Baz again, wanted to see him smile softly and open up his expression from being so guarded and stiff. He wanted to hear his laugh again, and ask him if he really  _ was _ ok. His daydreaming came to a halt when he heard voices trail down the hallway, increasingly becoming louder before three figures rounded the corner. He didn’t know who any of them were, but they seemed important in their buttoned up cloaks and stacks of parchment paper laden in their arms. 

“-unfit to take rule. His decisions will be immature and foolish,” one said. 

“I agree with you, Wilson, but the king’s word is law,” the other said. 

“You underestimate him, though, the young one sided with us in court, there is a chance  _ he  _ will call the war we have asked for,” the last one said. Simon’s eyes widened. A war? Who was the ‘young one’? Not Baz, surely? Simon was at unease, but he knew he had to inform the Mage. A war was not something he could keep quiet about, regardless of his increasing affections towards Baz. 

***

_ This is wonderful news, Simon! Your listening has been wonderful, you must continue to try, though, still gather as much information as you can. I will be there shortly, so you must set up a hideout so that I cannot be discovered. Soon this will all be over, Simon, and the suffering and starvation will end. -The  _ __ Mage _ _

Simon read over the letter a second time before he tore it up into pieces so that it could not be read by anyone else. He stood from his small cot and paced before he came to an idea.  _ The rocks along the shore, there must be someplace there for him to hide.  _ Simon concluded, and he fled from his room in the servant’s quarters. 

When he came outside, he was thankful to see no one else there, and tried to calm himself down as he made his way to the shore to prevent suspicion. He reached the rocks, and admired the way they jutted up to the sky, trailing their way out in a jagged jetty that disappeared beneath the waves further down. He found a break where two large rocks pointed upwards towards each other, with a gap between them. He crawled inside to find an empty space, there was no covering over his head, but he was completely surrounded by rocks.  _ Perfect.  _

***

“Baz? Baz, please wake up.” Baz groaned and groggily raised his head off of the large wooden desk. Mordelia was standing beside him, an angry frown on her face and her hands on her hips. Baz hummed in reply, and went to return his head to the comfort of the desk before Mordelia annoyingly shook his shoulder. 

“Leave me be,” Baz mumbled, and she huffed.

“You know, I don’t really have to listen to you,” She stated matter-of-factly. Baz groaned and turned his head to the side, not lifting himself from the desk. 

“What is it,” He muttered, and she sat down in the chair across him. 

“Remember what I was gonna ask you- before the attacker came for us in the carriage?” She asked. Baz grunted in conformation. 

“You thought I was in a stupor,” He murmured with a laugh, Mordelia glared. 

“You  _ were  _ in a stupor,” she countered. “And I still want to know  _ what  _ about,” she prodded. Baz huffed. 

“Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re on the brink of civil war and-”

“No, no, it’s not that. I can tell. You’re not really  _ sad _ , just unfocused, and I want to know what it is!” She cried. 

“It’s nothing, Mor, quit your insistence,” Baz sighed, Mordelia was unrelenting, though. 

“I’m not leaving here till you tell me,” she persisted. 

“Then you’ll be here for a long while,” Baz muttered. Mordelia cocked her head to the side as she studied him. 

“Is it anything to do with that guard who nearly trips over his boots to get a look at you?” Baz tensed.

“What on earth are you talking about?” “The one right outside this door,” She grinned schemingly, “You know- blond, sort of an Adonis?” Baz raised his head to meet her gaze and narrowed his eyes. 

“You’ve gone mad,” He tutted, “I’ve never spared a thought to the service class, you know that.” Mordelia groaned in frustration. 

“I  _ see  _ you waving and looking at him, you’re not subtle you know,” She accused, Baz rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll just ask  _ him,  _ then.” Baz’s head shot back up at that and she laughed. 

“Time to go check my hypothesis,” She cried as she leapt up from the chair and sauntered over to the door. Baz quickly sat up from his desk, ignoring the crick in his neck and legs that resulted, and rushed to get in front of her. Mordelia got her hand on the doorknob, however, and opened it right as he skidded in front of her. Embarrassingly enough, he fell flat on his face, to the surprise of a now very confused Simon. 

Mordelia stepped over him calmly and was just going to speak before she gasped gleefully. Baz raised his ringing head from the ground to see what she was surprised at, before he felt warm hands wrap around his forearms, and he was lifted carefully from the ground. 

“Better watch yourself there, highness,” Simon whispered gently, before he removed hands that had lingered a bit longer than they should have.

“Thank you,” Baz gruffed, wiping off dust from his shoulders and pointedly not meeting Simon’s flushed gaze. 

“Do you two know each other?” Mordelia asked guilefully. Baz glanced upwards to see Simon falter at being addressed by the young princess, before he stuttered and alternated looking between Baz and Mordelia. 

“Of course not,” Baz answered, forcing himself not to glance back at Simon as to not see his reaction. 

“Yeah,” Simon answered nervously, “‘Course not, miss.” He bowed his head in respect to Mordelia and frowned when he saw that Baz was looking away from him. Mordelia eyed him suspiciously. 

“Alright, then,” She answered simply, but Baz knew he wouldn’t be hearing the end of this. Mordelia turned and walked away from the pair, probably off to go tell Fiona about what had just transpired. 

“I’m sorry,” Baz said once she was out of earshot. Simon widened his eyes. “She can be a tad… invasive,” He finished with a nervous laugh. 

“It’s okay,” Simon grinned, “I like her,” he laughed as Baz gave him a short glare. Baz laughed a bit too, and then checked around them once before he took hold of Simon’s elbow, tugging him in gently to whisper in his ear. 

“I want you to meet me tonight,” Baz murmured quickly, “There’s a small cavern, hidden by rocks on the far right side of the shore- is four am alright with you?”

“Y-yes, I’ll be there,” Simon replied in surprise. With one squeeze of Baz’s fingers around his, the prince turned to re-enter his study, the door closing with a soft click. Simon slumped against the wall and sighed happily.  He was excited by the prospect of seeing Baz and being able to truly  _ talk  _ to him, but he was also fearful, as the time he had before the mage was set to arrive was becoming diminished with each passing second. He only had a few more days, before the man would arrive and things would change entirely. 


	7. Chapter 7

 Baz was unable to sleep the entire night as he awaited for the moment he would meet Simon outside. He paced around his room, careful to keep his footsteps light so that hopefully the floor beneath him wouldn’t hear. At 3:45, he slipped on a dark woolen coat, and tied up his boots, before he quietly opened up the window of his room. He was only on the third floor, a dangerous drop, but not one that would kill him. He used the wooden fixturing that was bracketed onto the estate walls to help him down, and thankfully managed the way without injury. Ensuring that no one was out or looking, he ducked and walked quickly towards the shore. He couldn’t see anyone as he approached, and the moon was shining down right into the cove as he entered. Now that the wind was blocked by the large rocks, he no longer needed his coat, and laid it down on the pebbled ground to sit. 

It wasn’t long before he could hear feet crunching on rocks, and Simon’s familiar figure stepped into the cove.

“Hello,” Simon breathed. The moonlight caught in his eyes- and Baz could care less if he sounded like a lovestruck maiden in an victorian novel- but they shone like stars.

“Hi,” Baz nodded, and gestured to the space behind him. Simon had a strange look on his face, a mixture between happiness, but there was also a small strain to his smile, Baz couldn’t truly place it. 

“I think I should apologize again for my sister earlier. She can be too knowing sometimes,” Baz then spoke with a soft chuckle and Simon smiled, a bit more relaxed then when he had first entered.

“Yeah, it’s still alright though, I didn’t mind her,” He said, and they lapsed into a short silence. “How come- why’d you want to see me again?” Simon asked. Baz stared at him for a moment before he replied.

“I need to tell you something,” Baz sighed and Simon raised a brow. 

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be king,” Baz said, and Simon cocked his head in confusion. 

“Why-” 

“Soon. I’m going to be king very soon,” Baz sighed and Simon raised his brows.

“You mean-” “My father wants me to take his place, regardless whether or not he is still alive and able,” Baz furthered. “I- felt the need to tell you,” Baz ended. He briefly worried if this would contradict Simon’s so-far kind thoughts towards him, but then calloused fingers were sliding over the back of his hand, and Simon was running his thumb over Baz’s knuckles. Baz raised his head with a quiet gasp, but it echoed throughout the cove, causing Simon to hear it as well. 

“It’ll be alright,” Simon assured softly with another squeeze of his hand, and Baz felt like he was melting, “I believe in you,” he smiled and Baz grinned back. There was a sad glint in Simon’s eye that made Baz worry briefly, but he brushed it off when Simon spoke once more. “Will I still be able to see you?” 

“I’m not sure,” Baz whispered. That was something he had feared, that his position would keep him from ever seeing Simon again. “I hope so,” he said, "I'll do what I can to keep this country out of war, but it won't be easy," he finished. Confusion ran through Simon's head- no war? What could that mean for the Mage, then? But he couldn't voice this to Baz.

“What was your mother like?” Simon asked randomly, and Baz was a bit taken back by the obscurity of the question.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well- I tended to her garden for nearly six years, I’m just curious, I suppose,” Simon replied. 

“You suppose,” Baz echoed. “She… My mother was strong. She was diligent, but understanding when she needed to be, and I know that she loved me very much,” Baz said, and he faced Simon once more to find him smiling softly. 

“She sounds like she was wonderful,” Simon sighed, and Baz nodded. 

“I miss her greatly,” He replied. “What about your mother? What is your family like?” Baz asked curiously, but wished to retract the question when Simon flinched. 

“I- er- well I don’t really have a family,” Simon shrugged, “I never knew my parents, I’m an orphan,”

“I’m sorry,”   


“No reason for you to be,” Simon said. He continued, “There is my friend Penny- and her husband Micah, I love them very much- so you could say that they’re my family- along with some of the men I used to work with at the castle,” Simon said, and Baz returned his smile. 

“I am glad for you, then,” Baz said, “And- well, you have me too now,” He said, face flushing as he did so. 

“I do?” “If you wish,”

“I do,”

“Alright then,” Simon laughed with mirth in his eyes, and Baz gasped softly when he laced their fingers together. “I’m glad to have you, Basil,” He teased and Baz glared.

“I told you not to call me that!” Baz groaned and Simon laughed beautifully. Baz soon dissolved into laughter as well, and when he looked back up, Simon was staring at him strangely. 

“Do you-” Baz began to speak, but was cut off when Simon leaned in and pressed his lips against Baz’s. Simon began to pull away quickly but Baz let go of his hand to rest it on Simon’s shoulder instead, pulling him back. He brushed his lips against Simon’s chapped ones, and it shattered him. Simon’s hands came up to his collar, and he was being tugged further and further as the kiss deepened. Simon’s tongue worked its way into his mouth, and he tasted like stale bread and weak tea. If he was coherent- he would have probably flinched back in disgust, but it was  _ Simon  _ and therefore  _ perfect _ . It was ironic, he then somehow managed to think, they were sitting not twenty feet from the ocean, but in that instant it was like he was being consumed by flames. 

After what honestly could’ve been hours, Simon was pulling away, and Baz hadn’t even realized that he had been clutching at Simon’s shoulders so tightly that his knuckles had turn white; the blood slowly returning their color as his grip loosened. He inhaled in the air he hadn’t known he was lacking, and then couldn’t stop himself as he fell into Simon’s chest with a breathless laugh. Simon’s hands moved from his collar to his back to support him, and the pair settled down on Baz’s coat.

“Was that all you called me here for? To tell me that you are king?” Simon asked, fingers fiddinly with the hem of Baz’s shirt.

“No,” Baz sighed, “I- well I wanted to understand you more.” Baz flushed slightly at the revelation, and was thankful that it was dark enough for it to be unseen. 

“Understand me?” Simon asked. 

“Yes, I feel like all of our conversations have surrounded only me, and I’m awfully curious to know what you get up to when I don’t see you,” Baz said. Simon chuckled softly, and then raised his chin so his eyes could meet Baz’s. 

“I don’t do much- but I came to your castle when I was around 17. Used to do garden and construction work but after I rescued your father they upped me to a guardsman-” “ _ You  _ saved my father?” Baz had turned his head so quickly in shock that he had nearly poked Simon’s cheek with his nose. “You’re  _ that  _ servant?”

“Yeah,” Simon said a small grin on his face, “Guess you owe me another debt then, huh”

“Not a chance,” Baz laughed, and he felt the rumble of Simon’s chest as he laughed too. Simon was biting his lip again, and he raised his hand to tangle their fingers together again, then rested them on his own chest. 

“When I come up with what you should owe me, I’ll tell you,” Simon mumbled and Baz- humiliatingly- giggled into Simon’s shoulder.

When they had quieted down, Baz spoke softly into Simon’s neck: “Look up,” He muttered. He relished in the gasp that resulted as Simon glanced up through the opening in the cove. He looked up too, and was greeted with the bright array of stars, stark against the dark sky, and undisturbed by any candles or oil lamps. He used to come here as a child too, and wondered momentarily if bringing Simon to all of his childhood-secret hideouts would become a common occurrence. 

“It’s beautiful,” Simon whispered and Baz held the boy tighter to himself. He let himself forget about the weights on mind and the responsibilities that he had to pay due for, and focused solely on the way Simon’s curls tickled his forehead, how his breath fanned on his cheek, and how he could finally kiss that one mole beside his ear. 

***

“I need to tell you something,” Baz said as he paced, Mordelia and Fiona were sitting on the couches in his room, all three having just finished a round of cards. 

  
“Get on with it,” Fiona gestured with her hand, Baz stopped his pacing and turned on his heel to face them. 

“Well- two things, really,”

“Still!”

“Yes, alright then,” Baz inhaled slowly, and then spoke. “Father wants me to be king, within the coming months,” Baz said first, he didn’t wait for their reactions before he continued, “I also have fallen in love with a servant, and his name is Simon,” He finished, and he awaited their responses nervously. 

“ _ I knew it!”  _ Mordelia shrieked in triumph, “I wasn’t wrong! That  _ was  _ the thing you were worried for!”

“He asked you  _ what? _ ” Fiona asked, shock and anger present on her face. “Your mother was  _ 30  _ when she took the crown, and you’re not 25!” She said sharply. 

“I know,” Baz huffed, “But it’s alright, this is what I wanted,” He assured, and she clenched her fists. 

“Well fuck that,” She said, and Baz’s head whipped up at the curse word. He let out a wet laugh and looked down at his hands. 

“So there’s not any issues, with- with-” Baz stuttered and flushed in embarrassment.

“With hat servant boy? Well, you obviously can’t marry him, but no one’s stopping you from having an affair,” Fiona contemplated. Baz sighed in happy relief at their lack of disgust in response to his revelation. 

“I know that,” Baz replied, albeit sadly. 

“Cheer up, Baz, a marriage doesn’t define love,” Fiona replied, placing a kind hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be just fine,”

“I appreciate the reassurance, but I doubt I’ll be able to see him after my coronation,” Baz told the pair. 

“You can figure something out- I know it, really!” Mordelia said excitedly, and Baz chuckled at her endearment. 

“Thank you, little puff,” He said, laughing more when she glared at the use of the nickname. 

***

  
Simon tugged the hood over his head closer, shielding his face from view as he rushed along the side of the estate. The wind from the ocean had taken to blowing it up and off his head occasionally, so he was forced to hold it down. He could see the dark figure slowly approach in the distance, and without looking Simon ran across the wavering grass to meet him. 

The Mage’s face was worn and tired, but his eyes were dark with excitement. 

“Simon,” He breathed with a wicked grin.

“Alright on the way here, sir?” Simon asked, reaching to take the large bag that contained the Mage’s swords from his arms. The Mage pulled his arm back out of reach, and didn’t offer an explanation as he motioned for Simon to lead the way.

They crept slowly across the grass field that surrounded the estate, careful to not stand up too tall or run too fast. Soon, they reached the beach, and Simon walked quickly, ignoring the churning of guilt in his gut as the neared the large rocks. 

“In here,” Simon motioned, and they stepped into the small cover that he and Baz had lain in only two days prior. 

“It’s closer to the castle than I would have liked- but it’s suitable,” The Mage sniffed, and he set the large bag down on the rocks. “I need to inform you of my plan now, Simon,” He said stiffly. Simon tensed, and wrung his fingers behind his back impatiently.

“Yes, sir,” He nodded, and the Mage continued on. 

“It’s simple, really, but efficient. Now that the king may be arguing for a civil war- he’ll be vulnerable- if we hit him before he makes the first move, we’ll have won the whole thing, don’t you see?” The Mage explained excitedly. “In only a few day’s time! Malcolm will fall, and I can be king, and  _ you _ can have anything you’d like Simon!” The Mage cried triumphantly. Simon nodded, but mentally worried over what he was about to say. 

“Sir?” Simon began nervously.

“What is it?” The Mage asked, excitement now fading into suspicion. 

“I was wrong about the war- and I cannot work for you anymore,” He stated, and braced himself for the blow to come. It did not, and the Mage had frozen entirely before he exploded. 

“What on Earth are you saying? How could you think such a thing? Who was it who freed you from  _ death?  _ When I saved you, you were nothing but skin and bone and now you  _ leave me!?”  _ The Mage cried angrily. 

“Sir, please, your voice,” Simon whispered. The Mage stopped his yelling, but his glare was as cold as ice. 

“How can you betray me like this?” The Mage said vehemently.

“I’m sorry, Mage,” Simon spoke.

“I can revoke-” The Mage started with a hoarse whisper. 

“I’ve been assigned by the  _ king _ , you cannot revoke anything,” Simon replied harshly, he stepped back to leave but the Mage grabbed his wrist.

"You are  _lying!_ I may have raised you, Simon, but know this now,” He tightened his grip on Simon’s wrist, so that red marks were surely now embedded on his skin, “If we meet again on battlefield, I will not hesitate to kill you.” He pushed Simon away from him and Simon sucked into too much air as he stumbled back. With a choked grunt, he spun and sprinted from the cove. He had known the Mage was… not of a good heart, but to hear the man who had taught him everything he now knew- threaten to kill him- was too much. 

He ran back to the castle, not noticing the dark figure, who had also been on the beach at that late hour. 

***

Baz cursed silently to himself. How could have he been so idiotic? He watched as Simon trudged quickly back to the castle. He had been taking a late walk to reliviate his mind, but when he had seen two figures approaching the cove, he had ducked behind one of the rocks further down the beach. Far enough for them not to notice him, but close that he could make out their faces. Simon, face stiff and impassive and so unlike that of which Baz typically saw, and another man, with a shrewd face and an angry expression, following closely behind. 

When Simon ushered the man into the cove quickly, Baz felt a wave of anger and confusion wash over him. That was  _ their  _ spot, and Baz knew that his thought was childish, but he couldn’t help the frustration that flowed as Simon let someone else so easily into the hideout. Who was that other man? If Simon had a friend who needed a home why didn’t he simply ask Baz? Was the man a criminal? Suddenly a deep voice began shouting, it was loud, but incomprehensible from where he was standing, and Baz’s curiosity drove him to step closer. He hid behind another rock that was four feet away from the entrance to the cove. Baz still couldn’t see them, but he could hear.

“ _ -’s time! Malcolm will fall, and I can be king, and you can have anything you’d like, Simon! _ ” The unfamiliar cried with malicious excitement and Baz’s eyes widened in horror. He felt the bile rise in his throat, and waves of confusion crash in his head. Who was the man Simon was talking to?  _ Simon  _ was the one who was going to kill his father? Simon was apart of the rebellion, the very people who were organizing the death of Baz’s family? Baz’s mind whirled with terror- he had gotten too attached, Simon was a  _ spy  _ and Baz had fallen right into his trap. How had he become so stupid?

The voices turned into a hushed whisper, and Baz couldn’t understand them any longer. He mentally cursed as tears began to spill down his face. The crunch of pebbles underfoot startled him. He turned and watched as Simon’s figure ran down the beach and back up to the castle.  _ What have I done?  _ Baz swallowed, and then sprinted after him.  _   
_ __   
***

Simon strode quickly through the castle, he had to find Baz and tell him of the Mage’s plans. As much as he hated the king for his actions, he knew in his heart that Baz wasn’t the same, and that he didn’t deserve to lose his father. He was just arriving at Baz’s quarters when there was a shout.

A familiar voice cried, “There he is!” And Simon turned his head to find two armed guards rushing towards him. He only caught a flash of black hair before he was being shoved against the wall by the two people. 

“Baz!” He cried desperately. But he was gone.  
“Take his weapon!” One shouted, and Simon’s eyes widened as they pried his sword from his belt. 

“Wh-”

  
“You’re going to be locked up,  _ traitor _ ,” The other spat.

“ _ No!  _ That’s not it! I can  _ explain- _ ” Simon barely had time to speak before he was hit over the head by something very heavy and everything turned black. 

***

  
Baz forced himself to continue down the hall, ignoring Simon’s cries and please before a thump was heard and he was silenced. He ignored the anguish in his heart and forced himself to remember that Simon was a traitor, that all the idolatries he had taunted Baz with were most likely a ploy. Simon had been working with the bloody  _ rebellion _ . After what he had heard- it would be impossible for him not to be a conspirator, and it tore at Baz’s heart. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Simon woke up to a bad stench under his nose, and grime under his palms and seeping into his pants. He found himself in a cell, with stone bars barricading him from another dimly lit and equally dirty room. He quickly stood in fear, twisting his fingers into the hem of his shirt.  _ Where the hell am I? What happened?  _ He thought quickly.

There was no one in sight at the moment, but there was a large wooden door adjacent to the room he was blocked from. Fright took over him.  _ What had happened? How did they  _ know _? Was that really Baz who had turned him in so harshly?  _

His hands were shaking as he collapsed against the wall of his cell, and he let out a small whimper as confusion and fear over took him. 

“On your feet, Salisbury!” A voice suddenly boomed, and Simon stood on shaky legs. 

“What have I done?” He demanded, “Explain this to me, please!” He cried. The guard sneered, his green uniform was stark and pristine against the grime of the walls behind him. 

“What have you done?” The man laughed wickedly through yellow teeth, his eyes narrowing, “Treason,” he growled and Simon stiffened. 

“Your friend escaped before we could catch him,” Another guard spoke as he entered the room.

“My friend?” Simon asked. 

“Don’t lie, his highness overheard you two- don’t try to disprove it,” The first one said and Simon winced. So it  _ was  _ Baz. But how had he known?

“I can explain! I need to talk to the prince! Please,” Simon cried, and the guards glanced at each other before one nodded. 

***

“The prisoner has asked to speak to you, your highness.” Baz tensed at the maid’s words, and stood from his office. 

“I don’t wish to see him,” He replied. 

“I’ll inform them,” The maid curtsied, but paused before she left him, “He was crying so awfully, it was terrible,” The maid said into her palm, and with a whirl of her skirt she had left and closed his door. Guilt and sadness sunk in his gut at the thought of Simon in pain, but Baz knew it was what he deserved.  _ But maybe… No! He  _ is  _ a traitor!  _ Baz thought. 

_ “Always hear the full story of things when making a decision, it is how a king can rule justly”  _ His mother’s words rang in his head and Baz was conflicted. He began to pace as his mind went back in forth. Finally, he sighed. He had to see Simon. 

***

Baz crinkled his nose as he entered the small jail located underneath the estate. It smelled of dung and faintly of blood, and the ground crunched disgustingly under his shoes. 

“Are you sure, sir?” The guard asked, and Baz nodded.

“Take me to him,” 

***   
“The prince is here for you,” The first guard spoke gruffy, and Simon’s head shot up so quickly that he nearly fell over. 

The wooden door creaked open, and in stepped Baz, expression closed and harsh, and Simon wanted to cry. 

“ _ Baz _ , please let me ex-” 

“Silence,” Baz held up a hand to stop him, voice cold, “Leave us be,” He commanded the guards, and raised a brow when the second guard tried to object. Reluctantly, the two men left, and Simon and Baz were alone. “Give me one good reason why I should listen to you- I heard what you and that man we’re talking over, and I know you’re apart of the rebellion” Baz stated. Simon gulped. 

“I-It’s true, but I  _ was  _ apart of the rebellion. The man I was with- he had raised me and convinced me to fight against your family,” Simon said, he forced himself to keep eye contact with Baz as he continued, “But- I realized how- how evil he is, that his idea of your family is wrong, and that- that I needed to leave him,” Simon finished, and Baz’s expression was impassive, offering no reaction.

“Where you conspiring about my father’s death this whole time?”

  
“Yes- but not often, and I had been planning to distance myself from the rebellion ever since the burning of the central estate,” Simon answered, and then his eyes widened in realization, “It was never known of my relation to you, Baz, I promise, that had nothing to do with it,” Simon said quickly. 

“How can I trust you? How am I to know that  _ you  _ haven’t been planning to kill me this whole time?” Baz snarled and Simon flinched. 

“I swear, Baz- I could never kill you. Please, do my words mean nothing?” 

“It feels as though all the words we’ve shared now mean nothing,” Baz replied and Simon felt tears well up in his eyes. Baz began to turn towards the door but Simon rushed forward and stuck his arm through the bars of the cell. 

“ _ Wait! _ ” Simon cried, and Baz halted. He looked over his shoulder. “He’s going to kill your father, the Mage- that’s the name of the man I was with- in several days time,  that is what he was telling me that night, I don’t know how you heard- but please know that,” Simon said hurriedly, and Baz turned back towards the door. 

“And Baz,” Simon croaked, Baz did not turn, but stopped with his hand on the door. “My love for you has  _ never _ been a lie,” Simon practically whispered, but he knew that Baz had heard him by the way his left hand clenched into a fist.

The door closed behind the prince, and Simon collapsed onto the ground, too exhausted to cry. 

***

“ _ My love for you has  _ never _ been a lie” _

_ “He’s going to kill your father” _

_ “I had been planning to distance myself from the rebellion ever since the burning of the central estate” _

Simon’s words replayed themselves over and over again in Baz’s mind. A large part of him was yearning for it all to be true, that Simon truly wasn’t apart with that man, but the other was fearful that he was being too trusting, too merciful. 

“ _ In several days _ ” 

Baz stood angrily from his chair and fisted in hands into his hair, tugging with a frustrated grunt. 

_ How can I trust him?  _ Baz thought, but then a thought struck him.  _ If he had truly wanted to kill me, wouldn’t he have let me drown that day? Maybe it was to gain my trust but still- I was vulnerable and it would have been so simple!  _ Baz’s fingers tightened on his own locks, and he knew what he had to do. 

***

Simon looked up as the wooden door swung open, but it was no guard who entered. Simon raised a concerned brow as a figure entered the room. 

“You truly are pathetic, managing to be captured so easily,” The Mage’s voice said vilely. Simon gasped. “The guards were an easy kill- this castle’s security is horrible,” The Mage laughed darkly. 

“What are you doing?” Simon asked, “I’m not of your allegiance anymore,” He said. The Mage grinned, and unlocked his cell door with the dead guard’s key.

“I know,” The Mage said simply, “But I need manpower.” He opened the door to Simon’s cell and nodded for him to step out. “And you will join me whether you wish to or not,”   


“Like hell I am,” Simon growled. “You can’t make me,”   


“Bunce- that was your friend’s name, right? She’s in the north with her husband’s family, isn’t she,” The Mage told him with a wicked grin and Simon felt the blood drain from his face. 

“Don’t you fucking hurt them!” Simon was gripping the front of the Mage’s cloak desperately as he shouted. 

“I won’t have to- unless you join me,” The Mage said and Simon shoved him away angrily. 

He had no choice.

***

Baz halted as he entered the room that lead into the jail cell. The stench of blood was prominent, and hung heavy in the air. Baz walked in cautiously, and stumbled back as he nearly stepped on a comatose guardsmen, blood seeping out from a wound in his stomach. There was another one next to him in a similar state. Baz tapped his foot against the guard’s leg, and nearly vomited when he realized that both were dead. _It's happening earlier than he told me._

He stumbled out of the room, and knew that he was no longer safe. He had been going to see Simon in an attempt to get more information, and hopefully more evidence of Simon’s possible innocence, but now- knowing that Simon had killed those guards- he was unsure once more.

He quickly ran to Fiona’s quarters, and alerted her to get Mordelia and the twins out, that he would find his father. He grabbed his sword from his room and started to sprint down to his father’s quarters. 

***   


“You must be the one to kill him, Simon,” The Mage growled as they ran, they ducked into a smaller hallway as a guard passed, and then were off again. 

“Sir-  _ I can’t _ ,” 

“You  _ will,  _ and that is final,” The Mage seethed and Simon swallowed nervously. They reached the king’s quarters, and Simon averted his gaze as the Mage quickly took out the two guards who were standing at the king’s door. 

They entered, and Malcolm was lying down in his bed. He turned his head towards them, his expression lacked both surprise and fear, which was startling considering both Simon and the Mage were baring weapons.

“Nice to meet you, your  _ highness _ ,” The Mage sneered, and before Simon could blink the man was rushing forward and stabbing the weakened king in the stomach with his dagger. Simon faltered, and knew that he had to act. The Mage was on a high, twisted excitement in his eyes and an evil grin on his mouth. 

Simon walked behind him calmly, and just as the Mage turned- to probably announce his victory to him, Simon had reeled back his arm and stabbed his sword into the Mage’s chest. Simon watched in horror as the Mage stumbled back with a cough, blood seeping through his chest and beginning to bubble up in his mouth. The realization hit Simon all at once, and he collapsed on his knees beside the Mage, sobs beginning to rack him as his body shook.

“No-  _ no _ ,” Simon croaked. He had  _ killed _ the  _ Mage _ \- the man who had given Simon his first real home, the first person to ever seem to care about Simon. He sobbed softly as the Mage’s coughs began to die, his mind whirling desperately. He didn’t notice how another person entered the room. 

Simon  _ knew  _ that the Mage was bad, but that couldn’t stop the hurt from flooding his chest. It was Simon’s fault that the man was no longer breathing. He hiccupped and sobbed pathetically before there was a hand on his shoulder and Simon was being pulled to a warm chest. He could barely feel the hand that was carding through his hair, or the other that was trailing patterns soothingly on his back, but he curled into the warmth anyway, his tears soaking a stain on the figure’s shirt as he closed his eyes.

***

Baz didn’t keep track of how long he had been holding Simon, but when his knees grew numb from being bent for so long, he knew it was time to go. He stood, Simon now asleep in his arms, and left the room. He didn’t stop walking until he reached his own quarters, and lay Simon down gently onto his bed. He then walked swiftly through the silent castle, and quietly informed a guard to spread the news of the King’s death. He didn’t answer any of the guard’s insistent questions as he turned on his heel and returned to Simon. He made himself forget about the way his father’s corpse had lay still in his bed- so much so that he could’ve only been sleeping, and the way that Simon had so furiously driven his blade into the Mage, before breaking apart himself. 

Baz curled and arm around Simon, and pulled the boy to his chest, Baz’s sword lay on his bed side, inches away and easily accessible should he need it. 

 

***

Simon woke up to feeling the most comfortable he had ever been in his life. He was tucked underneath a large and soft comforter, with equally soft sheet underneath him, and a warm person pressed to his side. Simon’s heart rate quickened as he saw Baz, asleep and vulnerable beside him, one arm draped lazily over Simon’s waist. Simon was about to sink back down into the havan that was the bed, before the previous night’s occurrences fell back down on him.  _ The king, the Mage- and Baz _ . Why was he with Baz and not in jail? The man in question began to stir, and soon grey eyes were blinking at Simon’s own. 

“Hullo,” Baz croaked and Simon clutched him tighter. 

“Baz?”

“Mm,”

“What’s happened? Why am I here?”

  
“I carried you here last night,”

“You-  _ why? _ ”

“‘Cause you took out the man who killed my father,” Baz said, he removed his arm from Simon’s waist and sat up in the bed, “I shouldn’t have thrown you in jail without barely saying a word to you first- it was unjust of me,” Baz then said and Simon was shocked. 

“ _ That’s  _ what you’re worried over? I  _ killed  _ someone, Baz. You had every right not to trust me,” Simon said and Baz threaded their fingers together. 

“Yes, you did, and I’ve killed people too. You can’t ever forget it- yet- the Mage was dangerous- he could’ve harmed many more were it not for you, love.” Simon squeezed Baz’s fingers and sighed. 

“I must ask- how did you escape from jail?” Baz inquired and Simon shuddered a breath. 

“The Mage freed me, and threatened to kill Penny if I didn’t join him,” Simon replied and Baz reached up his other hand so that both were clutching Simon’s. 

“A horrible man,” Baz said softly and Simon closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry- for your father,” Simon murmured after a moment. Baz nodded.

“Thank you, but I had been expecting it- honestly- and so had he,”

“I could tell,” Simon said dimly. “The Mage was somewhat a father to me, in a way, but I’m glad he is gone, ”

“Guess we both got unlucky with parental figures then,” Baz muttered, and Simon let out a wet laugh. “It’s going to be alright, Simon,” Baz said when tears began to roll down the man’s cheeks.

“What’s gonna happen now?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever does, we’ll carry on through it,” Simon let his head fall on Baz’s shoulder, relishing in the man’s warmth and comfort.  _ We’ll carry on. I’m sure of it.  _ Simon thought to himself before he relaxed into sleep once more. 


	9. Epilogue

“Crowley, you look breathtaking Basilton,” Fiona sighed happily as he adjusted one of his pins last minute.

“You think?” Baz asked with a smirk, and chuckled when Fiona rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, and we should be entering now,” She informed him. He took her arm, and a guard opened the large doors to the church. They walked down the aisle and to the top, where the priest stood, the crown rested on a delicate pillow beside him. 

When the pair reached the altar, Fiona took her position beside the priest, and Baz kneeled as the priest read out the prayers and duties that were to be expected of him. The procession was long, and by the time the priest had raised his bible for Baz to kiss, his knees had grown stiff and tired. 

“Do you accept the obligations of sovereign, and promise your faith to your country?” Fiona asked and Baz raised his head. With his father dead, the person who was of the most power besides him would present the crown- and with Fiona being the eldest of the royal family- it was her duty to do so. 

“I accept,” Baz replied strongly, and Fiona raised the crown from it’s pillow. She settled it on his head, and then stepped back, Baz standing as she did so.

“King Tyrannus Basilton of Watford!” She announced to the crowd, and the audience went up in cheers as they recited the phrase.

“ _ All hail King Basilton,”  _ they cried, and Baz turned to walk out of the church, now on his own. He made sure to give Simon- who was sitting in one of the pews of the church- a small grin and wink as he left, before he was out of the doors and in his carriage.

As the carriage tumbled onto the temporary estate situated close to the city (while the main one was being rebuilt) Baz remembered what his father had told him, holding the words close to his heart.  _ Be strong, Tyrannus. Rule like your mother did.  _ And Baz vowed mentally that he would. 

***

After the deaths of both the Mage (who’s position as the leader of the rebellion was now common knowledge) and King Malcolm, the roaring tumult that had overtaken the country had gone strangely silent. There were many rebels who were angered by the death of their informal leader- the Mage- but were content with the death of the king. Thus, actions similar to the burning of the castle and their attack on his and Mordelia’s carriage had come to a stop. Baz knew that they were simply waiting for him to make his first move as king- to decide their opinions on him. 

Much to the anger of his parliament- his first enactment as king was to lower the taxes his father had instilled after the previous war. Although his defiance from his father had appealed to the court- they hadn't expected for him to act- well- so _peacefully_. The loss of income from the taxes meant that the building of the new castle would take longer than normal, and that their military defense wouldn’t be as up to par, but it was nothing that couldn’t be handled. His second, was to ensure the dissolvement of the remaining rebellion. With the more violent and active groups, he had sent military enforcement to dismantle them by means of force if necessary. 

He knew that it meant some would die- but he also knew that it was far better than declaring a full on civil war- or sitting back and waiting for them to attack  _ him _ . Within the first year of his rule, Baz’s decisions had diminished the rebellion to nearly nothing, and in the end there really was nothing for them to fight for anymore.

His third enactment, was appointing Simon as his second in command and royal advisor. It not only meant that he and Simon could see each other constantly without struggle- but it also allowed for a voice in government that hadn’t been raised with a silver spoon in its mouth- like most of his officials. Simon would be able to help them in terms of the people’s interests- so that mistaken decisions like the tax increase wouldn’t be made again. Of course, his closeness to Simon did not go unseen, and there had been rumors floating around in the halls, but nothing that couldn’t be dismissed as exaggerated gossip. 

Before his coronation, Simon had confronted him. 

“I think it’s time you pay your second debt to me,” He had grinned.

“Second debt?”   


“Remember- for when I saved your father,” 

“Ah, yes, what have you decided then?” Baz asked amusedly and Simon had revealed a small pouch from his pocket. 

“Won’t really be able to wear rings without someone noticing, so I got us these,” Simon said as he undid the tie on the pouch. He revealed two golden rings, each on the end of a thing black string-necklace. “Will you be my husband, Baz?” Simon asked. 

“We can’t-”

“I know, not officially, but maybe- just for us, y’know,” Simon said. He motioned for Baz to turn around as he put it on the king, sighing in satisfaction when he finished. Baz took the other necklace from him and did the same for Simon. 

“You know, the one in debt isn’t really supposed to get something out of their own payment,” Baz said with a chuckle as finished the last knot on Simon’s necklace. 

“Lucky for you then,” Simon said as he smiled, and Baz had tugged him into a helpless kiss. In the end, only Baz’s siblings and Fiona knew of their unofficial marriage, and Mordelia had happily deemed it all “sappily endearing” of them.

In the night, when they both were done with their duties for the day, they could peacefully crawl into bed, and right into each other’s arms. There was nothing that made Baz feel safer than having Simon’s arms around him, protecting and loving him so greatly that he nearly melted in the feeling. 

***

 

_ 3 years after Baz’s coronation _

Simon’s eyes opened slowly as he groggily awoke. The room was pitch dark, so it wasn’t morning, but something- or rather someone, had woken him up. Baz was fidgeting in his sleep, head tossing back and forth, mouth letting out small mumbles, his fingers grasping the sheets tightly.

“ _ No, no, please _ ,” Baz muttered and Simon sat up. Baz’s face then turned to a mixture of hurt and fear and Simon became anguished at seeing him in pain. He softly reached up and grazed Baz’s cheek with his fingers. 

“ _ No! Stop!”  _ Baz muttered and Simon let out a shaky break. He was aware of Baz’s nightmares, as they happened frequently, but he was never truly prepared to see his love like this. When Baz was up to talk about them, he revealed that they were often about the war he had had to fight around the time his mother died, and though Simon couldn’t empathize, he made sure to be a constant comfort at Baz’s side when he needed to be.

“Baz,” he whispered, and Baz continued to fidget. “Baz, wake up,” Simon said louder, “Love, you're only dreaming,” He said and Baz’s eyes shot open. He was breathing heavily, and Simon’s heart cracked in his chest as tears began to spill from dark grey eyes. 

“You’re alright now, it was just a dream,” Simon mumbled softly and Baz blinked up at him with wide eyes. “Can I hold you, sweetheart?” Simon asked, and Baz nodded shakily before Simon pulled him close. Simon kissed Baz’s forehead as the pair settled back into sleep. “Was just a dream,” Simon whispered, and everything faded into Baz’s hair under his chin, and his arms wrapped around his shoulders. Thus, they carried on. 


End file.
